


A House, Where Papas Go To Die

by Kasiarzyna



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Deception, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, papa's gotta work for it, who the fuck even proof reads these days amirite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasiarzyna/pseuds/Kasiarzyna
Summary: Finally, you start living on your own, far from your family and a house, that hasn't been a home for quite some time.Your new home turns out to be a glorified ruin, that will take loads of time and effort to renovate. On top of that, the whole neighborhood seems to be deserted, except this one, dark mansion, just across the street from you. Sometimes, you swear, you can see someone watching you work from those uninviting windows, sometimes you hear whispers in the dark, and sometimes, you tell them to piss off.Mainly Papa Emeritus III/Reader, other pairings are sprinkled in. Please read the notes!





	1. The Trials And Tribulations Of Bathing While Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have to make a disclaimer.  
I am not a native English speaker, so if my spelling or grammar is rusty in some places, just correct me. I'm just a tiny Polish girl that wants to write some filthy Ghost fiction. 
> 
> It's not gonna be a story that's just "Reader meets Papa, they fuck and done". He's going to have to work for it. I'll try to keep Reader's appearance as ambiguous as possible, so y'all can put yourself in her shoes. 
> 
> Again, it's my first story completely in English, so please, for the love of God and everything holy, be gentle with me.

The music in the club is so much different from what you were used to. 

Coming here many times with your friends, taking the same seats at a small, round table, drinking the same drinks and always ending the night wasted and happy, you had worked out some type of partying routine. So, it was quite surprising when, instead of some bouncy, electric new hit, you and your best friend are greeted by some rock cover of a beloved disco song. The tone of the guitar and the melodic sound of the vocalist almost doesn't suit the atmosphere of the club, with its modern decor and neon lights.

You pass a confused glance towards the bartender, who, at this point, knew you better than you knew yourself. He shrugs, catching your stare, and proceeds to go back to preparing a drink for a laughing group of girls, who were almost certainly underage. 

There isn't a lot of people, some closely knit groups are chatting and drinking at their respective tables. A group of already pretty drunk girls are tearing down the dance floor, moving against the rhythm of the music. You smile, knowing, that after a couple of hours, you will probably end up like them. 

After ordering your drinks, you and your friend sat at your usual table. Natalie smiles at you, looking around the club. She looks like a fairy, with her gigantic, bright eyes and light hair, that seemed to flow down her back like rivers of silk. She put on quite a bit of blush tonight, making her face look almost childlike. 

You, on the other hand, placed all your hopes in glitter, covering your whole eyelids and cheekbones. It makes your eyes look heavy, like they are permanently peeled, watching the world under a curtain of long eyelashes. 

Natalie leans into her chair, taking in the booming music and flickering lights in all their glory. You, on the other hand, just can't seem to relax. At first, you think it's because of the weird choice of music, but now, when you try to focus on your friend telling, or more likely, yelling at you about her day at work, you realize there is an uneasy feeling deep in your stomach. You almost feel like something bad is about to happen and for a moment you understand how a main character from The Final Destination must be feeling right before their vision. Soon, you find yourself fidgeting, pulling at the loose strings from the lace lining of your black dress.

\- In conclusion, Donna is a total cunt - finishes Natalie with a winning smile - shifting in her seat a bit.

That snaps you back to reality and you answer your friend with a strained smile, hoping, that she won't notice your lack of focus on her words. She does, of course, you've known each other long enough to be able to read your mood like an alphabet book.

\- Oh, but I'm just sitting here, babbling, while you're over there, stressed - Natalie, thankfully doesn't acknowledge your current situation.

\- What? - you laugh gently, shaking your head - I'm not stressed. Nah...

Natalie raises her eyebrows skeptically, lowering herself just above the table and gives you her signature, pointed stare.

\- Dude, you're sweating like a whore in a church.

This time you laugh, loudly and harsh, not bothering to make it sound pretty and ladylike.

\- Shit, you're right.

Both you and Natalie start to relax soon after, leaning further into the plastic seats, and with each passing minute you feel you apprehension from earlier dissipate. It was supposed to be your last night together like this. Tomorrow you were moving out of your hometown to a small city. The house you bought was just on the outskirts, in a calm neighborhood, or at least, that's what your real estate agent has told you. It is exciting, the thought of finally living completely on your own, but also deeply terrifying. Of course Natalie promised to visit you as much as she could, and you know your younger sister will take any opportunity to bother you, even if it means travelling for hours on a bus. Despite that, the slight feeling of dread can't seem to leave you.

The waiter swings by your table, placing a rather small, strange looking drink right in front of you. It's almost the size of a single shot and deep red. You look up slightly startled. Natalie stares at the waiter equally confused. 

\- We didn't order that - you notice, raising your eyebrow.

The waiter nods and leans slightly forward.

\- It's from the gentleman behind you - he says, waving his finger, signaling you to turn around.

Both you and Natalie whip around to look at the mysterious drink donor. Your friend makes a noise that is a mix of a choking sound and a strangled laugh. You feel your skin crawl the moment you lay your eyes on him, and you must admit, not entirely in an unpleasant way.

Behind you, spread on a sofa of a private lounge, sits a man in a dark, elegant suit. He is staring at you from afar, just waiting for you to turn around. You can see his mismatched eyes bear into your face, burning holes straight into your soul. It's immensely uncomfortable, not to mention his extravagant skull paint all over his face, which only makes this whole situation more ridiculous. 

\- Well, shit - Natalie comments, barely holding in her laughter - You never get the normal ones.

You would've said something so unbelievably intelligent, something that would send Natalie under a rock, never to be seen again, but you just can't utter a single word. All efforts die at the tip of your tongue, as the intensity of that man's gaze is rendering you speechless. It feels like his white eye tries to drill its way under your skin, to peek into your soul and pick apart every secret. 

Your neck starts to hurt from keeping your head turned in an uncomfortable position, but you still can't look away, glued to your spot. 

Finally, slowly, like the two of you are the only people in the whole club, the man nods his head in your direction, breaking eye contact. You take a large breath, almost instantly turning towards your friend, who was watching this weird interaction with growing confusion. You shrug, as she sends you a quizzical look. The feeling of his eyes on you makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand up. A chill runs up your spine, as you reach for the glass of red liquid. You inspect the drink, swishing it around for a bit. It seems almost creamy in texture, like silk in a glass. Natalie shoots you a look, a small smirk adorning her features.

\- You're gonna make a deal with the Devil? - she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

A loud scoff escapes your lips and you smile, flashing your teeth and shaking your head in disbelief.

\- Hail Satan, I guess - you raise the drink in a mock toast, and down it all in one go.

It's absolutely horrible. It burns your throat and leaves a sickly sweet after-taste, mixed with something almost iron-like. You cringe hard, before setting the glass back onto the table. Smears of liquid are falling from the rim to the bottom, creating a small, red pool.

\- By your lovely expression, I'm judging it wasn't tasty - Natalie starts to laugh, placing her head on her hands.

Shaking your head, you turn back towards the mysterious man. He was, surprisingly still looking at you, his eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. Before you are completely taken by his gaze, you manage to notice two lean men in dark suits. They were wearing strange, silver masks, that covered their whole heads.

\- This is getting fucking ridiculous - Natalie voices your thoughts, as she too saw the creepy, masked men.

Instead of answering her, you stick out your tongue and scrunch up your nose, trying to convey just how awful the drink was. The painted man's pale eye seems to light up, as his face slowly twists into a wolfish grin that sends a wave of not entirely unpleasant shivers running down your spine. In a split- second you realize that this weird man was strangely, unbearably hot, despite the paint covering most of his features. Suddenly, you feel yourself short of breath, heat spreading all across your body. 

This time, it's you who breaks the prolonged eye contact, much to the man's surprise, as you force yourself to turn around, which is harder than it might seem.

\- Well - Natalie stands up from her chair, masking her uneasiness with a smile - I'm glad you stopped eye-fucking some old Satanist, can we get trashed now?

She extends her hand towards you and without as much as a second thought you take it, immediately being dragged on your feet. A strangled laugh escapes you, as you put your arm around Natalie's shoulders. Both of you make your way towards the bar, swaying slightly to the sound of the music, that was slowly going back to the electronic beats you two were used to.

After two hours of making circles between the bar, the dance floor and the bathroom, you are properly drunk, slurring your words and feeling generally great. The mysterious, painted man didn't make a move on you through the whole night, but whenever you turned to look at him, you could see his eyes on you. You figured he waited for you to make the first move, and while you most certainly were tempted to do so, your womanly honor forbid it, keeping you far away from his lounge.

His stare is making you uncomfortable, you conclude, when the alcohol calms down in your system. It was ever present, burning into the back of your skull. This, paired with silent looks from his masked companions makes goosebumps form all across your arms, only this time you aren't sure if they are welcome. Natalie doesn't seem to notice, as she drank considerably more than you and is currently hanging onto your arm so tightly, you think it might pop off any moment. 

Both of you decide it's time to get home, as it was close to 1 am. You call for a taxi, as you are the one still capable of coherent speech. You sneak another glance at the mysterious man, when you two are waiting by the bar for your ride to arrive. Natalie is dancing, twirling in place with a grace uncommon for a drunk. 

He seems distracted, talking to one of the masked men, his arms gesticulate passionately. Feeling bold, now that you're so close to the exit, you run you gaze over his figure. You notice his gloved hands, fingers ended with golden claws that glimmer in the neon lights of the club. You eyes move upwards, towards his face, fully taking in his features, this time without being distracted by his unwavering gaze.

He is deffinitely handsome, with a sharp nose and a jawline that could cut through glass. The paint makes his cheekbones more prominent and makes him look otherwordly and in a way, beautiful. His black hair, slicked back against his skull, looks silky and smooth, and with a smirk you realize you wouldn't mind running your hands through them. Blush creeps onto the tops of your cheeks, as you feel momentarily lost in your thoughts. That is, untill a pair of mismatched eyes reaches you.

You gasp, and your breath catches in your throat. Something flashes across his face, and you feel yourself get even more flustered. He has just caught you staring at him. The conversation he had between masked men dies down as his painted lips stretch into a smirk. You can see him say something, one word, but you cannot hear him over the loud, booming music. 

The masked men shift in their seats, looking at you in unison and you feel your blood freeze. It's beyond creepy, the way those three strange men seem to be watching you from afar. You feel like an antilope, being stalked by a pack of lions. However, before this Animal Planet bullshit starts to truly terrify you, you decide to pull yourself together.

Forcing yourself out of the trance his white eye seems to hold you under, you raise your chin in an almost defying manner. You are a strong, independent woman, who is going to start her new life tomorrow. You won't be intimidated by some Satanic bunch of weirdos. His eyes widen a bit and you assume your message has been sent. Turning back to your still dancing friend you miss the way his lips pull back, exposing teeth, that are quite sharp for a human. You miss the way his masked companions shift in their seats like wild cats ready to pounce. And you certainly miss the way he takes this little display of confidence coming from you as a challenge.

The cab takes you home, stopping by Natalie's apartment, where you get out to help her get up the stairs and to her room. You pay for the drive and slowly make your way to your home, leaning against the wall, as the alcohol makes your movements wobbly.

Opening the door you are greeted by a large, furry body colliding with your hip and a cold, wet nose trailing up your lower arm. Your dog, Dorian, jumps around you, his paws clicking on the wooden floor. You can't help but smile, dropping down on your knees and immesiately starting to pet him.

\- You've been waiting for me al this time? - she asked in a hushed tone - Such a good boy! Oooh, are you hungry? Did they feed you? Come on! Good boy!

Treading carefully with Dorian by your side, you pass by your sisters room, looking in for a second, just to see her sound asleep. You would miss her the most, you conclude, as you look over her sleeping form. With her mouth wide open, she's laying on top of her sheets, spread out like a starfish. There's a book by her head and you realize she must've fallen asleep while reading it.

Both your and your parents' room were situated upstairs and you dread the moment you have to sneak to your bedroom. You are a grown woman, of course, you parents however, were the controlling sort, and you really didn't feel like explaining yourself. 

Making sure that Dorian has water in his bowl, you slowly make your way towards the bathroom, opting for one last bath in your old house. You undress, rolling down your dress and stockings, throwing them onto a pile of laundry. You unclasp your bra, sighing at the feeling of your boobs finally being free after a long day. You fill the bathtub, silently praying that noone in the house will hear the water running, add a small amount of some relaxing oils and carefully step in, immediately submerging yourself fully in the hit water. 

A loud sigh escapes you as your muscles relax, tension leaving your body along with the steam rising towards the ceiling. You lean your head back, breath evening out and drowsiness taking over.

Closing your eyes, you can feel yourself slipping, your mind going over everything that happened at a lazy pace, eventually settling on an image of the painted man, watching, always watching. You must've dozed off at some point, lost in you thoughts, because suddenly you could feel a slight pressure on you ankle, as if something was holding it down, just for a moment. A long groan escapes you lips, as feather light touches make their way upwards, gently caressing your calf, sliding even higher, ghosting over your thigh. You moan, so silent, it's almost too easy to miss. Your own hand begins to travel down, where you need it the most, but before you can reach your destination, you feel something sharp grazing your inner thigh.

Immediately, you shoot up, splashing water all around. Your mind is foggy, from the weird dream and the hot water. For a moment you are sure, that the water in you bathtub has turned a deep shade of purple, so dark, it's almost completely black. You blink, panic rising in you veins, but when you open your eyes again, everything is back to normal. Suddenly, you feel very stupid, for being so scared for no real reason.

Quickly, you put a spare towel on the floor, soaking up the water that you spilled, while bolting from the bathub. Using another towel, you dry yourself, before putting on some pajamas and tying your wet hair into a bun on top of your head. After a moment to collect yourself, you start you sneaky walk to your room, remembering to switch off all the lights.

If you would take the time to examine yourself aster the bath, maybe you would have noticed four, slowly fading claw marks on the inside of your thigh. But you didn't, and somewhere, inside a dimly lit room, sitting in a leather office chair, a painted man with mismatched eyes is smiling to himself, knowing, that he is yet to be discovered...


	2. At Least The Bathroom Looks Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are so nice!! The feedback on the last chapter was amazing and, to be honest, kind of overwhelming. But, I'm gonna try my best and live up to the expectations.
> 
> I just hope all of you can have as much fun reading this, as I had writing. Because, after all, that's why we're here, right? To have fun.
> 
> This chapter is a bit Reader-heavy, just a heads up.

One of the perks of your father having a large car, is that you are saving a considerable amount of money on the moving company. For the last three days he has been taking rounds between your new home and your childhood one, slowly moving all the boxes filled with your personal stuff. Truth be told, it wasn't much, some pillows, some books, your laptop and your favorite mug, that hopefully, will make you feel more at ease in the new environment. 

Today is the big day.

You're sitting at the foot of your naked bed, the sheets already packed into one of the cardboard boxes, either in the trunk of a car or already at the house. There is a constant ache at the side of your head, numbed slightly by the painkillers you took after breakfast. Still nursing a hungover from the night before, you look around your room with heavy eyes. Once full of life, now it's empty and bare, a tight sensation in your chest forming the longer you just sit there. One last suitcase is standing right by your leg, it's presence anything but comforting. The turmoil inside you is confusing, to say the least. You don't want to leave, you don't want to say goodbye to a place you knew your whole life. You don't want to see your younger sister cry. But at the same time, you can't wait until you finally place that first step inside your new home.

Your father was unusually cryptic, when asked to describe the place to you, as all you knew about it, was what you saw on the Internet. According to him, it needed some renovations, but it was in a living condition, whatever that meant. When asked about the neighborhood, all your father had to say was, that it's quiet.

A knock at your door wakes you from intrusive thoughts and you look up to find your sister, leaned on the door frame. Feeling somewhat melancholic, you take in her appearance, illuminated from the back. Her hair is standing up in every possible direction, the longest pieces falling barely to her shoulders. She pushes her round glasses up her nose, a tick, more than necessity. She's tapping her foot, pieces of dirt falling onto the floor. Lucky for her, mother is outside, otherwise she would never hear the end of it. You as well, for not supervising her enough.

\- You ready? - she asks, folding her arms over her chest and hugging herself tightly.

You recognize the gesture, she always does that, when she's uncomfortable or worried. Every single family photo has her standing just like that, with a fake smile plastered onto her features, revised to perfection.

\- Yeah... - you sigh, standing from the bed, which makes an ungodly loud creak at the loss of your weight.

Juliet lets you through, swallowing hard, as you walk past her. The small wheels of your suitcase clatter loudly on the wooden floor.

\- I can't believe they let you keep the dog - she mutters, trailing after you to the stairs.

She doesn't help you take the suitcase down and you can't blame her. She's in her safety position, holding herself together with slightly chubby arms. It would be cruel, to strip away this illusion of toughness from her. You can't do that. 

\- I'm gonna miss him.

She jumps the last three steps, joining you downstairs.

\- You have your rats, let me have my dog - you counter and Juliet smiles sadly, nodding her head.

Currently, there are two rats living in her room in a gigantic cage under her bed. Since the day she turned fourteen, Juliet wanted to have a pet rat. Your mother, of course, absolutely forbade both of you to even speak about the issue, but you were never an obedient child. Quite the opposite, if truth be told. And so, one day, just before your sister's birthday, you sneaked two young rats into the house. 

For the first couple of months, they lived in your room, since it was the only one that had an actual lock in the door, so your mother couldn't just run in at any time she deemed necessary. The first rat, gloriously named Ass-cheek, was almost completely white, with a small black dot right on his butt, just above the tail. The second one, Dio, was brown, fat and the size of a Chihuahua. The war, that commenced in your house, after your mother had found them in your room was wholly worth it, if only to see her face, as she ran out screaming bloody murder. 

Wheels are loud on the wooden floor, as you move through the living room. Juliet walks behind you, keeping some distance between you two. You decide on not taking one last look at your home. It would be too much, and you aren't especially keen on crying just yet. And so, taking a deep breath, you open the door and take a step outside.

The sky is clear but the weather is surprisingly hot and the air feels heavy, like there's going to be a storm soon. You look over the roof of your house, and frown, seeing dark clouds slowly approaching. Fitting, you think, that your hometown would say goodbye to you this way, with a thunder.

Father is packing the car, trying to fit your city bike between some boxes. You dog, Dorian, is already seated in the back, sticking his head out the open window, watching you with its tongue out. You pass a glance towards your mother, who is standing still, just at the edge of the grass, fiddling with a small cross on her neck. She doesn't look at you as you walk to the car. 

You place the final suitcase on the floor and Dorian licks your face as you get back up. 

\- All is ready - your father emerges from the trunk of the car, sweat glistening on his forehead, which he dabs away with an embroidered handkerchief.

You nod, not trusting your own voice, and still trying to ignore the pang of heartbreak, you turn towards your sister, who starts looking everywhere but at you.

\- You're gonna give me a hug, or what? - you ask, plastering a comforting smile on you face.

Juliet shrugs and after a moment unfolds her arms. It's like she's been keeping herself in one piece until now, and the moment her arms leave her chest, tears start to well up in her eyes. She crashes her body into you and at that moment you feel yourself tearing up. You hold her back, almost on instinct, fingers digging into the soft material of her cotton shirt. Her shoulders begin to shake and you hold her even tighter, tears running down your cheeks, effectively ruining your mascara. In hindsight, you have no idea why you decided to put it on, since you knew you would cry like a baby. Probably because the smudges would look overly dramatic and if you were anything at all, it would be precisely that. Dramatic.

\- If anything happens - you whisper into Juliet's ear, making sure only she can hear you - Mother starts acting up again, those bastards from school do something stupid, you feel bad, anything at all... You get on that bus and you come straight to me, alright?

Juliet nods her head frantically, her tears make a big wet patch on your T-shirt. You lean back, holding onto her shoulders and giving them a squeeze, once, twice, three times.

\- Give 'em hell - you say and finally, she genuinely smiles, showing her teeth with the tooth gap that runs in your father's side of family.

She nods again and you let go of her shoulders, knowing, that if you don't turn now, you won't be able to at all.

\- You too - she calls after you, when you take your seat in the front of the car and you laugh, new tears already gathering in the corners of your eyes.

Father starts the engine soon after.

The drive to your new home takes about two hours and goes on in relative silence. Your father puts on the radio and lets you cry in peace for several minutes. The car passes places you knew from the moment you were born. The park, where you broke your arm climbing a tree, your school, the spot, where you had your first kiss. Soon enough the places you pass are less and less familiar, until there is nothing you recognize. Sometime later you enter another small town. It has its charm, the center is spacious and lively, kids running around the streets and several adults taking strolls in the sunlight. It's bigger than your hometown, with some modern buildings sprinkled here and there, and some chain stores you would naturally have to search for in a nearby mall. Passing through, you locate a club and two bars, that are currently empty, but if the posters are anything to go by, they attract quite the crowd in the nighttime.

Ten minutes later, your father turns into a newly placed road, without any patches or holes. You look out the window at the street sign and raise your eyebrows.

\- Genesis Street? - you ask, a trace of humor in your voice.

Your father just shrugs and you go back to watching the road. Most of the houses you're passing are empty. No cars, dark windows, some even patched up with wooden planks. It almost feels like you've entered a ghost town and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

\- Now I know, why you said the place is quiet - you mutter, somehow feeling less and less enthusiastic about your future life in here. 

Finally, your dad stops the car. You exit from your seat and look ahead at the house, soon to be your home.

It's... Well, it's definitely something.

You are greeted by a wooden fence, the white paint is peeling off in many places and there are some places where it needs to be fixed, with holes big enough for Dorian to easily fit through them. The garden is mostly empty and the grass reaches almost above your knee. There is a swing, hanging sadly by one chain. Taking out the keys from your jean pocket and start fumbling with the gateway's lock, until it finally clicks in place and with a horrible screech of metal, you are allowed to enter. There is a stone patch, leading to the wooden stairs, which look to be in need of dire renovation. To be honest, the whole house looks like it's going to fall over any second. 

\- Come on, no use standing like that - your father pushes past you and skips over the steps, reaching the door with keys already in hand.

His enthusiasm is almost comically out of place. The stairs creak, as you climb them, slowly taking a good look at the porch, where a single rocking chair is taking a central place, right in front of the window.

\- Most of the things are already in - your father calls out from the inside, and you decide to cross the threshols - The furniture you've bought will be delivered around noon.

All the boxes with the stuff you took from your past home are sitting patiently in the corridor, taking up most of the space, so you have to squeeze past them to reach the next room. 

Inside, it's not as bad, as the outside. The overall look of the house is a bit old school, but thankfully, all the walls are painted, no tapestry in sight. You check the living room, which stands mostly empty. You can already see the way it will look, when the new furniture arrives, and despite earlier apprehension, somehow, you start to feel hopefull about the situation.

Your father doesn't linger, he never does. Instead, he leaves you in the kitchen, where you just stand, hugging your chest, looking over the brown tiles on the floor. You can make it work, you keep thinking to yourself, you have to make it work. Slowly, you trail deeper into the house.

All the rooms are on the ground level. You aren't sure if there is an attic, and you aren't especially eager to find out just yet. Your new bedroom is surprisingly big, with two large windows overlooking the garden at the back of the house. The room should be able to fit a bed and a desk you recently bought.

Next, you find the bathroom, and immediately a wave of relief washes over you, as you find a gigantic bathtub right in front of the door. It's the nicest room in the whole house, clean and bright. You smile to yourself, if the bathroom is pretty, it can't be that bad.

You hear your father call out your name, and you walk back to the front door. 

He's standing in the corridor, your last suitcase in his hand, and you take it from him, trying not to show, how your hands start to tremble. Dorian is already out, his paws scraping the floor, but you just can't find it in yourself to care.

\- Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to call - your father tells you stiffly, and you both know, that you will rather die, than take him up on the offer.

You nod, and he takes it as a signal to take his leave. You start to walk out after him, watching, as he gets in the car and starts t drive away. Your eyes drift across the street to a metal fence that reaches higher, and higher, and higher, and suddenly, you gasp.

There, right across the street from your new home, is a literal mansion. It's tall and intimidating in every sense of the word. Made of dark wood and stone, with unwelcoming ornaments, that even from where you are standing look like something out of your darkest nightmares.

There is a black car in the driveway, signailing, that someone actually lives there and you're not sure whether it's good or bad. Normally, you would treck across the street to introduce yourself you your new neighbors, but something, some invisible force keeps you firmly in place at the edge of the porch.

\- Right - you mutter to yourself - Okay, yeah, sure...

Turning on your heel, you enter the house once again, this time closing the door behind you, deciding to wait for the furniture occupying yourself with properly cheking the house. You unpack two bowls, placing them on the floor in the kitchen and filling one with some water from the kitchen sink. You put some dry dog food in the other one.

Dorian immediately starts laping at the water, spilling some on the tiles. You sit down next to him, crossing your legs on the floor. You start to stroke his brown fur as he drinks. It feels weird, being here completely on your own, in a new town, with just your bike as the only means of transport. Not that you mind. The road to the town shouldn' take more than twenty minutes by bike and God only knows you're in need of some exercise. Looking up, out the window of your kitchen, you can see the mansion, tall and dark, and beyond creepy.

There is something magnetic about it, you feel as if it's softly calling out to you, luring you, beconning to come closer. It's an indescribable feeling that renders you motionless, sitting on the floor just staring at the blackened windows, that seem to be anything but empty. 

The spell, this strange house seems to hold over you dissapears in the blink of an eye, when a cold nose bumps your cheek, effectively bringing you back to your senses. 

\- My hero - you mutter, hugging your dog, to which he answers with heavy panting and a trial of saliva on your cheek. - We're gonna make it work...


	3. He's Just Standing There... Menacingly!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back y'all!!  
We're getting The Haunting of Hill House up in this bitch

The furniture arrives in the early afternoon. The delivery men give you strange looks, that almost seem sympathetic, as they place all the stuff in it's destined places. 

You're skipping around the house in barely contained excitement. Your dream house is slowly unfolding before your eyes. The bed is big, with a fluffy mattress that makes you almost sink to the wooden bottom and it's almost too spacious for your sheets to cover it completely. You took all the covers from your previous home, too tied to them emotionally to let them rot, forgotten. They smelled like that one washing liquid that was supposed to smell like lavender, but ended up being somewhat reminiscent of battery acid. 

After the bed is placed, it's time for the desk and a chair. When the workers move to another room, you stand in the middle of your new bedroom. Four boxes stare at you from the corner of the room and you sigh deeply, thinking about the hours of work still ahead of you. It filled you with a sense of adventure that you couldn't quite understand. You brought all your old stuff with you, yet it seemed to be brand new in this setting.

The phone connection, you discover, is surprisingly good for a place that could be described only as bum-fuck-nowhere. The Internet has a bit more of a hard time finding connection, but it's still not as bad, as you thought it would be. 

It takes two whole hours to get all the furniture inside, and when everything is said and done, you find yourself standing in your new living room, just smiling to yourself. Dorian skips around the room, occasionally brushing past your leg. He's following every worker, collecting pats from all that are willing to give them. He's the star of the evening, without a doubt, and by the wagging of his tail you assume, he's in his spirit.

You on the other hand feel beyond awkward, letting all those men enter your home, just like that. Even back in your hometown you were always hesitant, when it came to letting strangers walk into the house, even though you didn't have problems with talking to them on the street. It's just, you considered home to be a sanctuary of safe, and you were hellbent on keeping it that way, even after moving out. 

Not to mention, the oldest man, the coordinator of this whole operation keeps looking out the windows, right at the mansion across the street from your home. His eyes are very light and filled with wisdom from the life he's lived. You catch him, passing you worried glances from time to time and you can't help but roll your eyes. Suddenly you feel like a heroine straight from a horror movie, and it's making you slightly irritated. 

\- Interesting house, am I right? - you ask him, finally catching him alone in the kitchen.

The older man doesn't even look at you, just continues to stare out the window, his expression suddenly very serious.

\- I wouldn't be interested, if I were you, miss - he says after a while, his voice low and conspiratory, with a thick accent that you can't quite place. - This used to be a lovely place. I worked for every family that lived here. Happiness would just pour out of here.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you listen to the man, observing the way his eyes seem to be filled with a thick fog of memories. There is a deep wrinkle forming between his impressive eyebrows.

\- Then, they started to build this monstrosity - he points with his thumb at the mansion, distaste clear on his features - Bunch of weird folks. Some say they're just some eccentric family from Sweden. But some say, they worship Satan and his Devils.

It pains you physically to suppress the eye roll that's trying to crawl its way onto your features. The man turns to you, no trace of humor on his face. He regards you with an icy stare, that soon gives way to a frown, that somehow is equal parts sad and caring.

\- Stay away from those people, miss - he warns, placing his warm hand on your shoulder, making you jump slightly at the contact - There is lots of evil in this world, sometimes closer than we expect.

All you manage is a nod, as all thoughts seem to leave your body, leaving your mind completely blank. The older man offers you a sad smile and a squeeze to your shoulder, before leaving you alone in the kitchen, going back to the rest of the workers. His words leave you stunned for a good couple of minutes, and as if some force is making you turn, you look out the kitchen window. Your breath catches in your throat and an icy shiver climbs its way up your spine. 

There is a hand in the window, pulling back the black curtains just a little. 

It's just sitting there for a moment, that for you, feels like a whole eternity. Whoever it belongs to, is probably watching the furniture truck, but try as you might, you can't see their face. Instinctively, you reach your head down and start snapping your fingers. After a while, a familiar nose lands itself right in your palm and you feel all the tension leave your body. Looking down at Dorian, he's watching you with a curious stare of his brown eyes.

You really are shifting into a horror movie heroine.

\- Can't I have a moment of peace? - you ask the air.

The house seems to be laughing at your request.

The first night in your new home, you jump under the covers of your bed, still red and steaming from the hot bath you just took. Your wet hair splays on the pillow, soaking it in water. 

Dorian pads to the side of your bed, placing his head on the covers. You pat him gently and smile, his presence calming your nerves, that have been running wildly since the time you saw that hand. Even thinking about it fills you with an unreasonable amount of dread.

You shift further onto the bed, patting the place next to you. Dorian jumps on the bed and immediately curls into a gigantic ball of fur. Slowly stroking his fur, you reach over your head and flick the night lamp off. The room is covered in a thick coat of darkness. For a moment you stare at the closed door to your bedroom and the jumper that hangs on them, adjusting your eyes to the dark. You make a mental note to call your sister and Natalie in the morning. You also think about starting the much-needed renovations on the outside, deciding on going to town tomorrow and buying some paint to fix the fence. 

Sleep claims you just when you decide to paint the whole thing white...

There is a man, standing at the foot of your bed, leaning back against the closed door to your bedroom.

At first, you aren't sure, waking up with a start, when your dream gets infected with a low whisper, that seems to be calling your name through the fog that clouds your sleeping mind. It takes you a few seconds to focus, feel your consciousness coming back to you, and suddenly you're frozen in one spot. Are you dreaming? You sure as hell hope you are, watching this figure watching you. 

He looks like a shadow, like his presence is swallowing every bit of light that somehow gets into the room. Your eyes skip along his slender figure, searching for anything that would give away who he is. Heart hammering in your chest, shallow, small breaths, bones shaking so hard, you can almost hear the rattling. And yet, you somehow can't feel fear.

It's supposed to be here, but it isn't.

There is a man, some weird, unwelcome man, standing across the room from you, watching you, and all you can feel is curiosity.

Your feelings catch you off guard, as you frown deeply, shifting slightly in your position, supported on your elbows. He says your name again, so quiet, it might as well be the sound of the wind blowing outside your window. Your breath catches in your throat. You've never heard your name being spoken like that. So much longing and want, like a man stranded on a desert, begging his God for water. It sends a wave of not so unpleasant shivers down your spine, making the hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

Watching him walk towards your bed, your eyes try to focus on the darkness, that seems to be shifting around him like curtains of black silk. He stops right before you, his knees touching the edge of the bed. You can see the dip in the mattress.

\- Come to me - he asks, pleads, outstretching his right hand, and you see a faint glimmer of claws at the ends of his fingers.

Reality starts to pull at the back of your skull. You're sure you've seen those hands before, they're familiar, and yet you cannot recognize them on a person, their face just below the water of your thoughts. 

\- I... - finding your voice is harder than you'd thought, and it comes out rough, a low rumble.

Something cold and wet touches your cheek. Your whole body jerks at the contact, but you still can't take your eyes off the tall dark figure. 

There is a strange urgency in this man's posture now, like the time he has is running out, and he still has something important to do. He reaches forward, his hand splaying out in the air, fingers trying to claw their way towards you.

\- Come to me - he repeats, more forceful this time, his voice louder, more clear.

\- I... I would prefer not to - you whisper, eyes glued to the dark mass, where his head should be.

\- What?

There is a genuine confusion in his voice, the mysterious persona slipping, as his hand retracts just a little.

\- What? - you repeat, equally confused, your eyebrows shooting upwards towards your hairline.

Another cold touch, this time on your shoulder. And then you feel your pajama shirt being pulled to the side.

You wake up.

Dorian is shaking his head, his jaws clenched around the collar of your shirt, tearing it slightly at the seams. He's whining quietly and doesn't stop pulling, until you start to stroke his head with your trembling hands.

\- This is so weird - you mutter to yourself, making sure to check every corner of your bedroom, every dark spot, just to be sure.

\- This is so goddamn weird - you're moving your stiff body from the bedroom to the kitchen, taking the closest glass and filling it up with water.

Leaning against the counter, you reach towards the window, lifting the blinds ever so slightly. You have to lower yourself to see, and your shirt falls into the sink, but it doesn't stop your curious nature. Looking out at the dimbly lit street and further, at the iron fence, that is almost pitch black in the night, you look up, at the windows of the mysterious house. There, at the second store, you see a faint light in one of the windows.

In some way, you feel comforted that you're not the only one up at this hour, even if the other person is murdering a virgin in some fucked up ritual, while you're here sipping water. You start to wonder, who shares your moments in the night, and find yourself feeling rather sympathetic towards them.

\- You should get some rest, friend - you mumble, to them and to yourself.

As if they can hear you, the light flickers off, leaving the manor in complete darkness.

\- Well, damn, okay - your words are more slurred by the second, as a wave of exhustion overtakes you.

You finish your water, put the glass in the sink and slowly get back to the bedroom, where DOrian is pacing aroung, from the side of your bed, to the door and back. He sees you enter, and immediately takes his place at your side, this time resting his face on your stomach.

Comforted by his warm presence, you fall back asleep easily. And this time, all the monsters are asleep as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... I don't know what you expected, but it's not gonna be a serious story.  
Reader has a bit of a "Glaaaaass Shaaaark" moment in here, if ya know what I mean.  
Anyways, I'm going to my first ritual in November!!! I'm so excited, it's close to my hometown too!!
> 
> Thank you for all the Kudos and kind words, you guys are so nice it's still surprising me.


	4. Kiss The Doo-Door Handle

You bought three cans of white paint, specifically made for painting wood. 

A very nice man with a wrinkled shirt helped you find the best one for the purpose of painting your sad excuse of a fence. Getting back from town, you placed the cans on both sides of your bike's handle. One side was heavier than the other, so you had to be extra careful not to drive right into a ditch. 

Now, you are tying your hair back with a plain bandanna, which makes you look like some rustic house keeper, tending to fields of lavender somewhere in Italy. Or you just watched that one romantic comedy too many times. It's probably both. 

You turn in front of a big mirror, which somehow didn't break in the moving process. It still had little patches of glue and residue paper, from when you tried to get rid of little stickers your sister would place on the smooth surface. Feeling a bit comforted by the pleasant memories, you give an appreciating nod at your butt, currently fitted nicely into a pair of jean overalls. They look good on you. A soft smile graces your features, and you are fully prepared to ruin those trousers with some good old paint. 

Dorian skips around between your feet, his paws clicking against the wooden floor. Sometimes you catch yourself thinking, that you need to take him somewhere, where your mother wouldn't be able to hear him, so she wouldn't make a fuss out of him scraping the floors. Then, you remember that you're living on your own, that this is your dog and your house, and your rules. It's a liberating and comforting realization, every time around. 

Taking two cans of paint, you tuck some brushes into your back pocket and open the door, making sure to leave Dorian inside, as you don't want him to get dirty with the paint. You're greeted by a beautiful, sunny weather. Birds chirping away, flowers blooming, all that jazz. The sun is warming your skin, giving you a faint blush despite all the sunscreen you made sure to put on earlier. You aren't especially worried about getting a sunburn, you know however, that staying in the sun like this will most definitely give you freckles. The gateway creaks, as you open it, pieces of red rust falling onto the grass. You place the cans of paint on the stretch of grass between the fence and the street. 

Putting your hand to your forehead, you shield your eyes from the sun and look up, at the dark mansion, now closer than ever before. The window, that lit up the night before is wide open, dark curtains spilling out and flowing in the gentle wind. If you focus well enough, you can hear a faint sound of a classical melody being played. Lots of piano, some violins. It doesn't sound familiar to you. 

\- Hello, neighbor - you say, smirking, and crouch next to the paint, using a wooden end of a brush to open the can.

The lid pops off and immediately, you are hit with a suffocating, chemical odor, that almost makes you pass out on the spot. Covering your nose with one hand, you slam the lid close with the other, getting up and coughing a bit. 

\- Jesus - you mutter to yourself - It's like my high school's chemical lab, only worse...

Leaving the paints for a moment, you jump back into your house, darting straight to a small room that used to be a broom compartment, but you transformed it into a closet. You fish out another bandanna, pushing Dorian back at the same time. Before going out into the sun again, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look like a cliche young rebel, ready to take down an oppressing society. The thought makes you more happy, than you're comfortable to admit, and so, you leave the house, shutting the door behind you. 

Properly shielded from the chemicals, you make your way back to the fence, suddenly stopping, as you look up at the mansion again.

The window is still wide open.

There is a long stretch of tension filled silence, as you debate between being a decent neighbor, and doing your job, while acting clueless. You really, really don't want to go across the street, but the lingering scent of chemicals from the paint, forces you to take a step forward, and another, and another, until you reach the metal fence that is almost as tall, as you. Placing your hand on the gateway, you push it slightly, praying to God, that it's locked.

It's not. I don't know what you expected. 

The gate moves smoothly, silently, letting you on the property. You're frozen in one spot for a couple of seconds. Your fears are unreasonable, you realize that, of course. What are they gonna do? Curse you for eternity?

With a deep breath and a suppressed shudder, you cross the threshold, making your way all the way to the door made out of dark wood. They look very ornate, with some intricate carvings, that mostly present The Devil as the main hero. There is a single button for the bell, and you hesitate, with your hand extended towards it.

The music is still present, louder, now that you're closer to the house. It seems familiar. Maybe you've heard it on one of those boring concerts your mother used to take you to. Or maybe, it's one of those classical pieces, that every one knows, they just have no idea how or when they heard it. 

Another deep, calming breath, and you push the button, jumping in place, as a loud bell rings out through the walls. It sounds almost like a church bell, and somehow, it fits perfectly to the whole aesthetic of the place. Like a haunted house, but without the haunting. 

The music from the window stops abruptly, and for a second so does your heart. You're standing in complete silence, the sun is burning the back of your neck. It seems that even the birds have gone quiet in anticipation of your fate. The tension is killing you inside. You know someone is home, they have just turned off the music, and yet, no one comes to open the door. You're just left like that, standing alone and shaking slightly from the adrenaline that thought it's a good idea to assault your body.

\- Alright - you murmur, taking a few paces back to look up at the window.

It's still open, the curtains however, are neatly tucked inside. 

They really are dedicated to playing the role of some creepy bastards, aren't they.

This time, without fear, you jump to the door, pushing the button much longer, hearing the church bells ring inside. And just like before, you are left with nothing. You start to fidget, your fingers toying with the thick suspenders on your jeans.

\- Alright - you repeat louder, walking right in front of the window and swaying on your tippy toes, to help your voice reach higher. 

\- I'm gonna start painting the fence and the paint is very stinky, so I suggest, you close the window!

Your voice rings out in the silence of the empty street. You cringe slightly, not really liking to shout. Again, your presence is met with no reaction, so you decide to make your way to your side of the road, feeling equal parts annoyed and disturbed. 

Just when you reach the metal fence, you hear a distinctive sound of a wooden window being closed, and you turn on your heel, just in time to see a gloved hand retract behind the curtains.

Now you're just annoyed. 

\- Well, that's just plain rude - you lay loud and clear, so every bug and bird in your proximity can hear you.

Leaving the propriety, you close the metal fence a bit harder, than would be considered necessary. Taking the bandanna, that until now was hanging around your neck, you place it securely on your mouth and nose. It doesn't help as much, as you hoped it would, but at least you don't die on spot from chemical poisoning, You are however quite lightheaded until late evening, and you can feel a scratching sensation at the back of your throat.

Embracing fully your rebellious look, you paint the whole outer side of the fence white, expressing your rage through art. 

After dinner, consisting of a microwaveable lasagna for you, and some dry food for Dorian, you take a cup of fresh tea and sit outside on the rocking chair. It creaks when you sit on it, and every time you want to move even an inch, you're pretty sure everyone in town knows. Still, being like this, outside your own home, looking over your own garden, however run down it may be... A wave of calmness washes over you, as you stroke Dorian behind his ear. You decide on calling your sister and Natalie tomorrow, since you feel slightly tired from all the work, and you don't trust your voice, after attacking it with all the chemicals from the paint. 

Your moment of much-needed tranquility is interrupted suddenly, by a sound of a car, stopping right in front of your driveway. No, not yours. The mansion's.

Dorian perks up at your feet, his watchful gaze silently observing the red stop lights. Your own curiosity peaking its head, as you try to see who gets out of the car. To your disappointment, no one does. The gateway slides open on its own, and the car rolls silently forward, soon disappearing into an open garage. You linger a bit outside, still hoping you will catch a glimpse of mysterious visitors. 

You don't realize it, but the party has just arrived to the Emeritus household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how to name this chapter, but then Tobias came, gave me two new songs and saved my life.


	5. Too Much Panic, Not Enough Disco

You are almost sure the car never left the mansion.

Deciding on taking a long, relaxing shower and going to bed, you do just that, before finally turning the lights off and falling asleep. Dorian, surprisingly didn't want to jump on the bed, curling into a ball on the floor, right at the side, between you and the desk. Weird, but not too weird.

Sleep overtook you just around midnight and the last thing you saw was a row of shiny zeros on the shield of the electronic clock just beside your bed. You can still smell a faint odor of chemicals from the paint and the scratching sensation at the back of your throat didn't entirely disappear, but you decide to treat it tomorrow with some delicate tea and maybe some pills.

_The man is in your room again._

The feeling of a pair of eyes watching you, shakes you out of a very pleasant dream. The darkness seems to shift in waves around him, extending its black tendrils in your direction, climbing up the walls of your bedroom. He looks otherworldly, just standing there, his slim figure leaning against the wooden door to the room. Now, that you can see him for the second time, and you are positive he's just a dream, you're calmer, more confident with your wandering gaze.

The air carries a strange smell with it, like the inside of the church, infused with incense and something sweeter, almost suffocating in its intensity, and yet, not unpleasant. Of anything, the scent calms you further, and you feel yourself melting into the mattress.

\- Who are you? - your voice sounds muted, like you were locked behind a glass case.

His eyes flash in the darkness, or more likely, on eye, white and round, a heavy contrast with the rest of the room.

\- Come to me - he asks, pleading, extending his hand towards you, yet making no move in your direction.

Man, he really wanted to get you off the bed. Lazy bastard. But then again, you were lazy too.

_It's just a dream_, you keep reminding yourself, as you watch him watching you. The golden claws of his gloves shine in the darkness, just like his eye, dragging the attention of your gaze to them. His presence seems to be keeping you under some sort of spell, not entirely in control of your movements and thoughts.

\- What do you want? - you ask, your voice so much smaller, like someone just flipped a switch and turned the bad bitch persona off.

To be honest, you are nervous, although you can't quite place why. It isn't an unpleasant feeling, you realize, as you try to focus on the tightening sensation in your stomach. Anticipation.

_Oh, so it's one of those dreams._

\- You know what I want, my dear - the man answers and all your previous worries disappear, leaving only excitement and unreasonable giddiness.

If your sleep paralysis demon wanted to have some fun, who were you to deny him?

Moving slightly on the bed, you kick off the covers, exposing your bare legs. You have to remind yourself, that you are in fact dreaming, and don't have to worry about the man judging you over the pink shorts with a little paw pattern all over hem, peaking under the hem of your sleepy time shirt.

This whole thing would've been so much more awkward if he was a real man. Gee, could you imagine?

\- Come to me - he whispers your name in the same, needy tone, just like the last night, and this time you actually almost moved.

The darkness seemed to pull you in, further smothering your senses under a thick blanket of foreign sensations. It was like swimming, you felt light, like your body suddenly became filled with pure air, instead of the lasagna and years upon years of not so healthy lifestyle. 

\- You want it? - you find yourself ask, and feel slightly startled by the bold tone of your voice, like you actually know what you're doing - Come and get it.

You don't have to tel him twice, as the man flashes a toothy grin that has some questionably sharp canines. Slowly, like a beast circling its prey, he took a step towards you. Suddenly, being spread out on the bed like that made you feel wildly uncomfortable, as your self-control comes back twice as hard, making you rethink your dreamy decisions.

He comes even closer, his knees hitting the edge of your bed. You take a good look at him, trying to take in as many details as the surrounding darkness allows you. From what you can tell, he seems to be wearing an elegant suit, but the only, truly distinct features of his attire are the claws on his gloves, the silver buckle of his belt and a silver pin with a strange symbol on his collar. His features are almost completely obscured in the dark. 

The singular white eye watches you intently, and you can see with a healthy dose of smugness, that his pupil is dilated, making his eyes almost match in color. You think you can see some light being reflected off his slicked back hair, but with your current vision, he might as well be bald.

\- I have waited so long for you, my lady - the man starts to lower himself onto the mattress, and you immediately compare him to a hunting tiger, in your head.

Out of all the weird fantasies you had in your short life, being called "my lady" is probably the most surprising. At least you're getting to know yourself more.

The man places his right hand right beside your bent knee, keeping eye contact with you the whole time and you bite your bottom lip in anticipation. You hear him growl somewhere deep inside his chest, and he all but launches himself at you.

However, before his other hand can even touch your mattress, you see a flash of brown fur fly past you and land right in front of the man.

\- Oh shit! - the man yells, colliding loudly with the wooden door to your bedroom, the sound waking you up completely.

You jump from your bed, your breath ragged and you mind racing. Looking around the room, trying to fight the confusion and panic seizing your mind, you realize you are alone. There is a cold patch of sweat sticking the shirt to your back. Memories come back to you in waves, the dream slowly exposing itself from a fog of sleep. 

Dorian is growling loudly. He's standing with his back turned to you, staring at the door to your bedroom, his fur puffed out, making him look much larger than he really is. 

\- Hey - your voice comes out groggy and you can feel an uncomfortable pain in your throat - Hey, Dorian, baby, what's going on? - you ask your dog, kneeling down on the floor next to him, and trying to calm him down.

You can feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, his growls start to quiet down, and slowly he came back from whatever trance he was under. You hug him tight to your chest, but before you allow yourself to calm down as well, something catches you eye.

\- What's that Dorian? - you ask, turning the dog to face you.

There is something black hanging from his mouth. He lets o of it, and a black, leather glove falls right into your lap. You can see a familiar glint of golden claws and another wave of panic crashes into you, sending you back onto your feet.

The desk clatters, as you push your whole body onto it, covering your mouth with your hand, to stifle a shout forming in your throat. 

It's here. It's right here, on your wooden floor, between two paws of Dorian's. The evidence, that what you thought was a dream is actually a real man. It takes you a whole minute of just staring at the piece of cloth before you finally move. You make a large circle around the glove and practically tear your small backpack open, fishing out your phone. You wait a couple of signals, before finally, a very displeased voice is heard form the other side.

\- Dude, it's three in the fucking morning, don't you ever sleep? - Natalie grumbles into her phone, and you feel slightly comforted by the sound of her voice.

\- Listen, Nat, listen - you know your voice sound beyond dramatic, but at the moment you don't really care about toning down your emotions. - I've moved to my new house, right? I did, like two days ago, right?

\- Yeah - Natalie sighs heavily - You did, you really, really did...

\- And the first night I dreamed that there was a man in my room just standing there, looking at me, ya know?

\- And?

\- And tonight I had the same dream - you don't even realize you're shouting, your hands start to shake and your grip on the phone tightens 'till your knuckles turn white. - But get this, Dorian woke me up, because he was growling and acting all weird and shit...

\- Dude, you're gonna start making sense or can I go back to sleep? - Natalie's voice seems to be more present with every word.

\- And so, I found a glove. - you drop the ball, waiting anxiously for your friend to answer.

There is a spot of silence on the other side.

\- What fucking glove?

You throw your hands in the air, puffing as the slow pace of the conversation makes your panic hit you harder. 

\- The guy's fucking glove, his glove, it's right there, on my floor, I'm looking at it right now.

You shift your gave towards the offending piece of cloth, to confirm that it is still here. The claws shine at you, almost mocking your breakdown, and your heart jumps to your throat for the hundredth time this night. 

\- And you're sure it's not one of yours? - Natalie tried to reason - Maybe Dorian took it out of a cupboard or something...

\- You know what? - you start, feeling your senses coming back to you - I'm gonna send you a photo and then you'll tell me, if I would ever wear something like that.

You sound bitter, you know that, but the whole situation is beyond reason, and you couldn't care less if your friend became mad at you. You only needed her to believe you.

\- Okay, sure, send me the pic.

You nod your head and then confirm with a very breathy and weak "yeah", when you realize she can't see you. 

\- When can you pop for a visit? - you ask, sitting at your desk, placing your chin in your hand - Tomorrow?

Natalie sighs loudly and you already know that you won't see her when the morning comes.

\- Day after tomorrow should work for me - she says after a while - I gotta fuel my car and I don't really have the money to do that now. 

\- The planet is dying, bitch, take a bike.

\- Is this a plan to get me there sooner? - Natalie asks in her playfully angry voice you know too well - Because I really want to beat your ass right now.

You're laughing. You notice it some time later, when the sound of your own laughter mixes with Natalie's. Thank God for friends, right? Natalie hangs up on you, leaving you in the darkness of your room. And although your nerves are still spiked, you sit by the desk with a small smile on your face. Casting a glance at the glove, which still just hangs in there on the floor, you take one of the pens from a cup on you desk, and crouch down.

Pushing the fabric around with one end of the pen, you splay it out as best you can. You take two pictures of the glove, the flash lamp of your phone makes the claws glow. After that, you start searching Internet connection, making your way to the living room, with your hand extended high above your head. Finally, you press send, and watch the small white circle turn, until it finally signals that the two pictures have been sent. 

After that, you decide to run around the house, cheking all the windows and doors. All of them seem to be closed properly, which makes you wonder, how on Earth did this strange man get into your home. Was he some kind of a weird, demonic Santa? Are you haunted by the Krampus? 

Somehow, you don't feel like going back to the bedroom, so you just plop down onto the couch, dragging your knees towards your chest. Dorian walks to the living room after you, and immediatelly places his brown head onto your stomach. Your knight in shining armour. 

\- Thanks buddy - you mutter, feeling your eyes close. - We're gonna deal with everything tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: 'Papa gets cock blocked by a dog'  
I have the plot figured out for like the next two chapters, and then we're just gonna have to wing it.
> 
> Let me know what you think about the story, and what would you like to see in the future. Seriously, if you guys have any ideas please, for the love of Satan hit me up <3
> 
> Thank you for all the support, seeing your reactions to the bs I post is honestly making my days.
> 
> Love y'all


	6. Stuart the Little's Religious Career

If there is anything your mother has taught you, it's that tea can fix everything. From heartbreaks, through bad days and finally, to mental breakdowns at three in the morning. There is something undeniably magical about sitting under a blanket and drinking the herbal beverage of gods, like wise women of old times, just before the church came to their doors. When you were little, you liked to imagine yourself, placed by the window of your small cottage at the edge of the woods, surrounded by books and potions. Feared by men and respected by women. Instead of hosting tea parties for your teddy bears, you would wear your mother's skirts that piled up on the floor, and ran around the house, waving a stick, that you had found in the woods, as an imaginary wand. Imagination had been your only friend, and when your sister was born, you found another missing piece in all the stories your mind could conjure. For what was more magical than two sisters against the world. Collecting bugs into jars, sneaking around the house way past their bedtime, pretending to talk to spirits trapped in everyday objects.

Even the memory of those days makes you smile, now that you're an adult, with your own house and a hot, herbal tea in your hands. A thick, woolen blanket covers your legs, as you sit by the window. Dorian is laying under you, his eyes focused on the front door, like he has to keep watch over your safety at all times. October came, and painted the whole place orange. From slowly dying grass, to the leaves on all trees, everything seems to be in flames, shining in the last rays of sunshine, before winter takes over. These are the hard times, where you would often get sick from just walking around. Although Halloween is just around the corner and you can't help but feel a small wave of excitement fill you, as you watch days pass on your calendar. 

You've already started to plan your costume, digging through your clothes, You hope that at some point you will get the famous, annual call from Natalie, who was known all around the neighborhood as the local Halloween enthusiast. Her flat is constantly decorated with skulls and bats, and has a closet blacker than her heart.

You can almost imagine her, with wild hair and some black gown that would send Morticia Addams home in tears. She would be the gossip of the town, which was founded on strong Christian beliefs and rules, that should never be broken. Like a harlot strolling through the richest alleys in London. You always admired her for her unapologetic disobedience. She could rebel against something and own it, a skill you never truly mastered.

A black car enters your vision and you flinch on your spot by the window. Slowly setting your cup down, you get up and inch even closer to the glass, shielding yourself from any unwanted eyes with a curtain. The car stops at the entrance to the dark mansion on the opposite side of the street, and soon after, you can vaguely see two men exiting the car. One, from the front passenger seat and one from the back left. A familiar tinge of uncertainty climbs its way up your back, as you look closer, just to find out, that one of the men's face is completely covered by a metallic mask. He looks familiar, as much as a masked man can be. You swear you can remember the costume from somewhere, but you can't exactly put a finger on where. The detail keeps escaping you, and your focus shifts to the other man, standing behind his masked companion.

He looks, like he really doesn't want to be here, and in all honesty, you can't blame him. He's fidgeting, looking around and bouncing his leg all at the same time. He wears a red cassock, reminiscent to that of a Catholic Cardinal and yet, somewhat more stylish. Tighter perhaps. You can't really see his face, as he is turned away from you, but you can see a mane of brown hair sticking from under a small, red hat on top of his head. Curiosity is rising in you, like a false friend, making you bite your lip and mirror some of the nervous ticks the red Cardinal is doing.

The masked man rings the bell next to the metal gate and waits for the answer. He doesn't get one, and your eyebrows jump to your hairline as he makes a second and a third attempt, all of them met with silence. The masked man turns to his companion, metallic horns shining in the sun and you can't help but squint your eyes and focus even harder on that small, distinct memory that keeps slipping through your grasp. The Cardinal shrugs, dusts off his cassock and turns around. And at this exact moment his eyes make contact with yours. You've been caught. 

In a situation like this, normally there are two options. You either bolt somewhere, where no one will see you wallow in self-pity from being caught red-handed, or you stand your ground, own your mistake. Being a logical person, you decide to choose the third option, and so you turn on your hill, cross your corridor and go right out through the front door, leaving Dorian inside. 

Outside it's cold, the chill of the autumn air hits your warmed body, as you stroll to your fence, plastering a "friendly neighbor" smile on your face. Truly, you rock this rustic housekeeper role.

\- Hello! - you call out politely, before closing your screeching gate and standing on your side of the road. 

The Cardinal looks terrified, his mismatched eyes (holy shit, one of them is completely white) widen and you can see his fidgeting hands clasp behind his back, to hide his obvious discomfort. There is also something new you've noticed, mainly, that his eyes are painted with big black circles. It's a very neat makeup job, you notice, no smudges or sheer spots. The paint looks almost like it's part of his skin.

\- Uh... - the man stumbles, shoots a distressed look at his companion, who's emotionless as you would expect from a man in a mask, and finally turns to you. - Hello.

\- I've noticed you tried to get in there - with a raised chin, you point at the house. 

The Cardinal cringes slightly, like he's eating something vile tasting, but composes himself rather quickly. You try not to gawk at his outfit, you do however notice a familiar sign on the right side of his chest. It's an inverted cross, well, kind of. It's very ornate, made with a silver thread and it has something reminiscent of the letter 'G' in the middle. But than again, it can be like, a weird circle. What's important, is that you know this sign. You know it just as much as you know the mask on the other guy's head, just as much as the glove left in your bedroom, or the glint of gold nails in your dreams. A shiver shakes through you, and you force yourself to stop looking at this weird symbol. The smile is back on your face, albeit a bit more forced. 

If the Cardinal saw you staring, he decided not to comment.

\- Ah, yes. Unfortunately, the inhabitants don't seem to want my company - the man looks rather glad at the turn of events.

\- Yeah - you nod - But don't worry, they're not exactly the nicest people in the neighborhood - you try to sound compassionate - That would be me, since I'm literally the only other person living here.

This time, you swear you can see his mouth twitch upwards under a very thin mustache. His eyes stop darting around awkwardly and focus solely on your face for the first time in the entire time you've been talking. For a moment you have to remind yourself how to breathe again. His eyes are intense, but not like creepy intense. It feels like there is so much he would want to say or do, but he keeps shutting himself in and the only sign of passion inside is the glint in his irises. And the way his gloved hands tighten behind his back, which is betrayed to you by the soft squeaking of leather. 

\- I'm terribly sorry, I did not introduce myself - the man steps back from you, which brings your attention to the fact, that somewhere along the conversation you must have slowly inched forward to him, and bows. - Cardinal Copia, at your service.

For a moment you just stand there, slightly dumbfounded by this situation. Never in your life would you expect a man to bow to you. It makes the smile on your face just a bit more sincere and a small giggle escapes your lips. 

You tell him your name extending your hand, but when he takes it, instead of shaking it like a normal person would, he brings it right up to his lips and places a delicate kiss on your knuckles. You can barely feel it, but his lips are very warm... And soft. Goosebumps erupt all over your arms. He looks up at you, his hand lingering slightly before letting yours fall to your side. A blush spreads all around your face to the tips of your ears. You're getting so furiously red it's actually laughable. Both of you stand there for a moment. His full lips twitch into a small smirk, barely noticeable, but still there. 

\- Charmed - he breaks you out of your small trance and you smile, full teeth on display - I've heard quite a lot about you...

Confusion hits you like a truck, smile falling and brows knotting together almost instantly. Cardinal Copia takes a step back, his face showing clear regret at the words that just left his mouth. But, before you can ask the man what does he mean, a loud buzzing noise comes from the closed gate behind the two men. The masked individual turns on his hill and opens the entrance. 

\- Well, it was lovely chatting with you, Miss. - the Cardinal bows again and practically runs away from you, down the path leading to the mansion.

The masked man nods his head at you and follows inside, closing the gate with a click. And so, you are left there, standing in front of a house, that's been haunting you since you've arrived. Questions still swarm your mind, no answers in sight. You sigh, flail your arms a bit and scratch your neck. 

\- This is so goddamn weird - you mutter to yourself, as you turn back and walk to your house, closing the door and turning the locks, just in case.

The rest of the day flies by quickly. You feed Dorian, give him daily dose of petting and cooing, and after that you decide to work a bit, turning your laptop on and waiting unti the darkness of an early autumn evening falls around you like a thick blanket. Somewhere around 10 p.m. Natalie calls just to tell you, that this years Halloween party will be, in fact held at your house, and that you basically have no say in the matter, since you've promised a housewarming party sometime ago. 

It's hard to say 'no' to Natalie. She has a way of getting what she wants from whoever happens to be her victim. This time, it's you, and after she assures you, that she will help with everything, you agree to organize a party for no more than twenty people. Only after the call has ended you realize, that twenty might be a tad too much. 

When midnight arrives, you finally decide to take a quick shower and fall face first onto the bed. Unknowingly to you, the party, that arrived to the Emeritus household the other night just had a very unpleasant and heated argument regarding his seduction techniques. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on my bullshit my dudes!   
Next chapter will probably be from Papa's perspective? I still don't know what I'm doing, but y'all already know that.
> 
> I'm terribly sorry that you had to wait so long for this chapter. There has been some pretty big changes in my life and there is still more to come. 
> 
> I have a very vague idea of where I want the story to go, but if y'all have any ideas, please, don't hesitate to tell me. 
> 
> Love y'all so much <3


	7. Dorian Finally Fucking Calms Down

A groan escapes your lips, as a familiar feeling of being watched stirs you out of a light sleep. For a moment you can't even force yourself to open your eyes, knowing full-well what will wait for you at the foot of the bed.

\- Go away - you grumble, voice muffled by the pillow, which you try to snuggle as close to as you can in hopes of saving some heat.

For a second, you think that maybe, just maybe, you completely lost your mind and are currently yelling at air. That would be a favorable outcome, given the alternative. Unfortunately, a low chuckle is heard from the corner of your room and you can't help but groan. He was not supposed to be here tonight, especially after you discovered he was in fact a real man. On top of that, you hadn't had a good night's sleep in days, all thanks to this weird creature of the night. In this situation, knowing that he was in your room, alive and real, you should feel scared. Terrified even. But all you can feel is a wave of annoyance, twisting your features into a childish frown. Glancing back from your pillow, you can see him standing in the corner, lips twitching into a smirk that makes you want to punch him. And you would, if only you weren't so damn tired.

\- Why are you here? - your voice doesn't sound right, like someone put your vocal cords in a padded cell, your throat is dry - Again...

\- I wanted to finish, what we started the night before - the shadow explains smoothly, and takes two long steps, his knees hitting the mattress.

Immediately, Dorian starts to growl, his brown head poking out next to your curled body. Somehow, it makes you feel a tad more confident, knowing your dog will protect you no matter what. The strange man visibly shifts, his shoulders tensing.

\- If you mean my dog almost eating your face off, then by all means, let's continue - you can't contain the smirk, that flows onto your features, as you watch the man freeze in his spot, one white eye watching Dorian carefully.

\- You seemed rather cooperative last night, my dear - he laughs an airy laugh, that makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

It takes a while for you to shake the unnerving feeling off. Slowly, you start to turn in bed, trying to face the stranger, instead of just glaring at him with one eye, while the other is squeezed by the pillow. Your joints crack loudly and you cringe ever so slightly, sitting up in bed and rolling your head to release the tension in your neck.

\- Last night you were just a dream to me - you explain, rubbing the side of your face, which has lines from your pillow - Now, I know you're real... Which is kind of messed up... How did you even get in?

The man laughs again, his hand coming up to push back his raven hair. You notice he doesn't have the gloves with golden claws, instead he chose black, leather ones. Crawling your hands across the sheets, your fingers find Dorian's fur. You give him a couple of strokes, and after a while his constant growling stops. You can see his eyes shining, as he looks from the man to you and back. The dark stranger points to the chair in front of your desk, the one you had your mental breakdown on just the other night. You can almost feel amusement coming off of him in waves.

\- May I? - he asks politely, feet already moving in the direction of the chair.

You nod, although the uncomfortable feeling rises in your stomach at the proximity of the man, who is now sitting only centimeters from your bed, his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He's looking at you and for the first time you can really see his face. A cold chill runs up your spine. Because you know him, most definitely. But you don't know from where.

The man sees you frowning in confusion and the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. He taps his finger on his cheek, like he's drumming to a song that only he can hear.

\- You seem rather tired - he notes, pointing to your face and at that moment you feel your face turning into a scowl.

\- Gee, I wonder why - a grumble pushes past your lips, as you scratch your neck, throwing the nastiest look you can muster in the direction of the man - Why are you here?

\- Well - the man straightens in the chair, which creaks unbearably loud - I want to invite you to dinner. 

Silence hangs heavy between the two of you, as you digest his words, carefully thinking them over in your head. Slowly, you bring your hands to your face, pushing the palms into your eyes so hard it almost hurts. The ridiculousness of the situation hits you all at once like a speeding train.

\- Are you gonna explain yourself and all this shit at dinner?

The man shifts closer in your chair, and as a response, you push your back as far against the headboard as possible. Dorian raises his head, seemingly sensing your uneasiness, and the strange man automatically reclines a bit, a light frown settling on his features.

\- I will do my best to ease your nerves - the man says, placing his hand over his heart.

The gesture, albeit dramatic, helps you calm down, even if the answer isn't exactly what you wanted to hear. Drowsiness returns at full blast in a wave of exhaustion that catches you off guard.

\- Have you eaten today, darling? - he asks with real concern, shifting in his seat, so he can sit as close to the edge of the bed as possible, and this time you're not running.

A low hum of confirmation leaves your lips and is immediately followed by a log yawn. The man laughs loudly, his voice rich and somehow soothing. His hand reaches for your shoulder but stops just as his fingers skim your shirt, and you feel a desire to lean into him, to feel his touch fully.

\- May I touch your master? - the man asks, ans it takes you about five seconds to register he's talking to a currently growling Dorian.

The dog sniffs through the air, and places his head protectively in your lap, but his growls subside, and he settles on watching the man carefully.

\- Such a loyal creature - the man muses and finally, finally touches you.

His hand slides from your shoulder to the back of your neck, and you almost bloody moan at the contact. You aren't sure if it was just the lack of human contact over the last months or if he just had this effect on you, but immediately, you feel your muscles relax under his fingers. Your eyes flutter closed and a lazy smile flows onto your features. Somewhere to your left, the man is humming in appreciation, as his hand starts to delicately kneed the flesh at the back of your neck.

\- You really are tired, hmm? - the man mutters with smile prominent in the tone of his voice.

He doesn't sound smug though, so any annoyance you might feel is pushed back from your mind, as you start to sway gently under the pressure of his fingers.

\- Sleep then, love - he whispers, his other hand helps you slide back under the covers.

You try to open your eyes, but find it impossible. A hand brushes stray hairs from your face, lingering slightly at your cheek. It's warm, and wide, a stray finger swipes across your bottom lip.

\- Sleep - a hot breath fans over your lips - And dream of me.

Pressure on your forehead, soft and pillowy. A sigh escapes you, before you have the chance to catch it, but you find that you don't care. Showing vulnerability is the last thing on your mind, as the darkness of sleep slowly grips you.

You dream of him, as if his last wish was some kind of ancient spell. But it's not what you would have expected. 

Sun slides into a richly furnished cabinet, through thick, crimson curtains. There is a desk in the middle of the room, with a small pile of papers laying untouched and an expensive fountain pen next to it. A gigantic leather chair stand proudly at the desk. It's probably worth more than half of the possessions you have at your house. Behind it, from one end of the room to the other stretches a shelf filled to the brim with books, titles of which are too small to read from where you are laying.

It's a couch, red and soft to the touch. You're sprawled out on your back, one leg dangling off the edge, foot grazing a thick blanket underneath. Throwing your head back and watching the ceiling, you try to take a deep breath, which is significantly more difficult with the pressure of an entire body on you.

\- You're crushing me - the voice that comes out of your mouth is hoarse with sleep.

All you get in response is a deep grumble and someone nuzzling his face into your chest. You look down at the crown of raven black hair nestled right between your breasts. One of your hands comes down from its place on the backrest of the couch, and starts to pet the head of the stranger. The pressure of his body on yours shifts, as he raises his head. A breath catches in your throat, as the man looks at you, one eye blue and warm, while the other seems to be glowing with white light.

\- This is how it's meant to be - the man says, his voice low, accent thick, hot breath fanning over your exposed collarbone.

His eyes, his slightly crooked smile, his eyebrow lifting at you, it's all too much, and with a sudden jolt you shake yourself awake.

Sun shines brightly through your window, a square of light makes Dorian's fur shiny and soft-looking. You watch for a moment as his chest rises and falls, before you decide to wake him up, by throwing the covers off and jumping from the bed. Your head hurts. It's not especially uncomfortable, more like a dull ache somewhere deep under the skull. When getting dressed in the bathroom, it takes you a while to wake yourself up, as you just stand there, hands on the sink, looking at your reflection. 

There is a scowl on your face, lips pulled into a tight line. The bags under your eyes are getting darker every day, but this time you don't feel the need to cover them up. It's not like you're going anywhere today...

Just as the thought leaves you mind, a loud knock from the front door effectively startles you awake. Looking yourself in the eye in the mirror, you let out a loud groan, the conversation from the night before coming back to you at full speed. 

The dinner. Right... Of course...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exam season is coming with some big ass steps so you know what that means? A new chapter, 'cause I can't get my priorities straight.   
Anyways, we'll get some explanation about what in the world is happening soon, I think...   
Please be nice to me, English is hard. 
> 
> Also thank you so much for the nice comments, they really push me to write more in this weird time in my life. I hope you guys are doing amazing. Love you all so much.


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